“You okay, old man?” Briggs asked, still half-smiling.
Earl straightened slowly, placing the cloth back on the counter.
“I’m fine,” he said.
Briggs crossed his arms, leaning casually. “So what’d you do before this?” he pressed. “Seriously. You ever even wear a uniform?”
A few Marines nearby glanced over, sensing the shift but not quite stepping in.
Earl looked at him then, really looked, and something in his expression changed—not anger, not exactly, but focus, like a lens adjusting.
“You want to know?” he asked quietly.
Briggs shrugged. “Yeah. Why not?”
Earl leaned forward slightly, just enough that his voice didn’t carry beyond the immediate space between them.
“Ask about my call sign,” he said.
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